Happiness in Slavery
by Space-Weazel
Summary: This story has been edited and partially rewritten. It is the story of Knives' and Legato's relationship. Legato goes through seemingly endless psychological and physical torture in order to please his Master. A darker tale of mine. Mature content warning
1. And so it Begins

Rewrite/Edit version – September 20, 2007

It was dark outside; the daylight hours had long since surrendered their last breath to the cold, soothing despair the twilight hours had to offer. The sky, stained the color of merlot, a deep red, almost black, gave no hope of a tomorrow that might never come. Nothing was right in this place, this future Eden. The cries of children could be heard if one had ears to hear and a heart to see the sadness, the anger, the empty pit in the bottom of ones' stomach. It was absolute nothingness. A nothingness in which life cannot exist, and all that is natural in the world fades away into oblivion, for that is what Eden is; nothing, a figment of a corrupt imagination given a title. Some may say that Eden is happiness, a paradise, a state of heaven in this dimension. They are all wrong. The time has come to show you, show the world about Eden. Are you ready to see? See true darkness? See the truth. No one really is.

---

"Get up." The words glided smoothly through the tenor voice, like liquid sex, caressing the ears of anyone who had the misfortune to hear them. The boy tilted his head up to gaze at the feet of the man speaking to him. Bloodshot amber eyes stared for a second before retreating back behind closed lids, almost afraid of being caught looking at perfection. "I told you to get up." Frustration, bitter anger hinted in the normally apathetic voice, a sign that there would be far worse punishments than the loss of life if he did not comply hastily.

Using the last little bit of stamina he had to offer, the boy pushed himself to his knees and spat out a mouthful of tainted blood, the result of disobedience. Then the pain came again, a type of pain that burned and froze at the same time, a numb, senseless feeling. He fell face forward onto the cold white tiled floor. Soft sobs seemed to echo in the empty building, as he laid there shivering, afraid, cowardice in the purest form.

A strong hand gripped the boy by the collar of his shirt and yanked him up off the ground like he was nothing more than a mere feather. The boy stared, rigid as a pole at the man before him. The mans' lips were pressed into a thin line, and his almost clear blue eyes, once tender and caring, showed nothing less than the wrath of a god blazing behind them.

He was god to the boy.

"I told you to get up Legato. Why do you insist on upsetting me? If it's truly anger than you want, then you shall find yourself with more than enough to sate your appetite." The man said as he shook the young boy forcefully snapping his neck back, straining the muscles.

Silent tears poured out of Legato's eyes against his will. He could not be weak, not now. If he were weak the master would never love him. "No, Knives." Legato whimpered in between restrained sobs.

Knives replace Legato to his position on the ground. No anger, or hatred appeared on his features, his brow was not wrinkled in disgust, his heart-shaped lips were completely void of any emotion known to mankind. He was peaceful in the lighter sense of the word. Not even those cold sapphire eyes showed anything out of the norm. Looking up through bloodstained and matted hair, Legato's eyes stared in question at the face of his savior.

Had he made him happy? Had he pleased his master, his angel, his bringer of hope? A slight smile of triumph appeared on cracked lips at the mere thought, it disappeared as soon as it was shone. Knives eyes glared down at him, like he was having his very soul analyzed. A sharp pain ran throughout Legato's body as he collapsed on the floor. Crimson blood poured from his lips, staining the tile further. Master struck him again, on the back this time, forcing him on his stomach, knocking the air out of him.

Knives crouched on the floor and promptly pulled Legato up by his hair "I told you never to call me Knives. You will refer to me as Master. I am your master. You are Vash. You are his replacement. You can be replaced. You will be replaced. Do you understand?" Legato fell silent for a moment before a quick moan drifted off his lips.

"Answer me!" Knives yelled

"Yes Master." Legato said in a monotone

"Yes you what?"

"Yes, I understand you Master."

"Good. Give me your clothes."

"Mas-"

"Give them to me! This is your punishment."

Legato undressed himself and handed Knives his clothing. It was evident that he was little more than a whelp, a starved little thing, all mangled flesh and bone, a symbol of the human race and its dependence. He looked up at his master's emotionless face; his heart sank, drowned in sorrow. _I'm Vash's replacement. Is that a good thing? Yes, it is. I am his replacement because he isn't here. I don't want him to come back. If Vash comes back, the master will abandon me. I can't let that happen. But the master wants him back. The master is always right. Always._ Legato thought to himself.

"Go outside and lay in the sun till I tell you otherwise." Knives voice pierced the dead silence.

"Why?"

Knives grabbed Legato by the throat and lifted his fragile body in the air. "Twice today you have questioned my orders, now it is my turn to ask why."

" I. . ."

"That's not good enough Legato, or is Legato too good of a name for you?

"I. . .I"

"All of you humans are alike, frightened, weak. Your very existence is a waste of life. You, slave, will always be human."

Suddenly, Legato was dropped; a loud snap reverberated on the walls, surrounding the entire complex. "Now, go outside slave."

Legato replied and fought to hide the pain in his knee as he limped out into the burning desert, leaving a trail of bloody footsteps in his wake.

---

A young fifteen-year-old Legato shifted in his bed sheets that were currently serving as blankets. He blinked tired, lackluster eyes a few times, trying to get rid of the fatigue that plagued him with limited success. Looking out the window above his bed, it was clear that the suns were just starting to bare their sadistic faces, it couldn't have been more than half past five. The master would want his slave soon, any moment now perhaps. Almost like he had read Legato's mind, Knives waltzed in, looking just as he has all those years ago when they first met, time never seemed to showed its effect on his physique. With what charm he could muster, Legato sat up, letting the sheets slide down his slender form to his waist level, and greeted his master respectfully with a slight bow and nod of the head.

Knives remained in morose silence when he arrived at Legato's bedside. Something about him was different today. His eyes were narrowed in thin slits, the ends of his lips, curved down, not too unusual.

"Have I been good to you slave?" the Master said acrimoniously, the words came out crisply, decisively.

"Of course Master, always Master." Legato answered without hesitation, although the momentary thought of _how could he ask that question?_ crept into his mind, but he forced it out, he couldn't risk thinking such thoughts, not at this time.

"And what have you done for me slave?" Knives asked calmly.

"I have been searching for your brother Master."

"Is that all slave? Maybe you are more of an inconvenience than I formerly thought."

Legato's eyes shot wide open. One line beat his mind over and over _You are Vash. You are his replacement. You can be replaced. You will be replaced._ He's going to replace me. Legato swallowed hard, this could not happen to him; he would not allow it to happen. "I will do what you want Master. Your every wish I will answer."

"You haven't found my brother yet slave, maybe I should dispose of you, cleanse my hands of your disgrace."

Legato's heartbeat sped up ten fold. _No, this. . .This can't happen. I am his most loyal. His slave. I have disappointed the Master. . .No._ Legato grimaced. "I will find your brother, I will do as you command. I will find Vash for you."

"Yes, you will, and if you fail, Midvalley here shall be your substitute." Knives snapped his fingers once and a man, finely clad in a pressed suit, holding a saxophone stepped in. Midvalley was close to Legato's age, possibly a few years older, his brown hair was neatly slicked back, dark eyes sharp, predatory, almost tiger-like peered right into Legato's. Indeed. This man looked as though he could take the place of anyone here without the blink of an eye. Knives made a motion with his hand, and Midvalley walked back into the hallway. "Now, what can you do to prove that I should not replace you with Midvalley this instant?"

Legato opened his mouth to speak, but shock withheld his words. His hands, his whole body started trembling. He felt the tears well behind his eyes, he suppressed them, they were human. Jealousy was human.

It happened in a split second. He was lost for all thought, his mind, drawn a blank. Master, that wonderful, evil, godsend of a being drew close to him. The clean scent of soap filtered off of his presence, engulfing Legato in its euphoria. Their faces were barely apart, even the gentle beat of Master's heart could be heard in the overbearing silence of the moment. One could even smell the hint of cinnamon riding on Knives hot breath.

"Tell me Slave, tell me all that there is to be said." Knives voice dropped half an octave, a tone he reserved to intimidate people, and it always worked. Always.

Frantically, Legato thought of everything he could do, eat and kill. That was it; none of the options seemed too enticing. He looked deep into the Masters' awaiting eyes. If he didn't react soon, the inevitable would happen. There was one thing he could do. It was the only way.

Grabbing the back of Master's head, Legato pulled him into a forceful kiss; it was the highest sign of affection, love he could think of. It was what he had wanted, what he craved. The love of a higher being, the only love he was denied. Out of surprise more than anything Knives gripped Legato's shoulders tightly. A moan of pleasure came from Legato; he ran one of his hands through Knives' silky blonde hair, thinking that he was doing the right thing, thinking that he was to be accepted. Loved.

Without warning Knives jerked Legato's left shoulder back, dislocating it. Instantly, Legato released his hold on Knives and fell back on his bed, eyes wide open, pupils shrunk into tiny black specs, unbelieving of what just happened. He made no cry of pain, nor any sign of discomfort, not so much as a whimper, but his eyes, those yellow beauties, they told of it all. Knives corrected his posture and smoothed his hair back in revulsion with a spare hand. He had been tainted by human hands.

"You will never touch me unless I order you to." He walked to the doorway, and paused for a brief moment, eyes wandering back to the boy he left. " . . .Legato." With that he vanished out the doorway, disappearing without a trace.


	2. Legato and Midvalley

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun or any related products.  
  
Note: This story revolves around a yaoi theme, meaning a relationship between two men. If you find this fact unappealing, do not tell me how you disapprove, instead refrain from reading the content.  
  
'Midvalley, how I loathe him- No, I hate him. He's inferior, a product of nothing more than feral humans allowed to breed. He is pathetic, wormy, not worth of my Time. He is even below my contempt. And through all this. . .He is my replacement, just as I am Vash's. Also like Vash, Master has a place for him, higher than mine possibly. What could Master want with Midvalley that I cannot give? Companionship? Pleasure? No. . . If only he knew how much I. . . want to. . . serve him. I'm getting off the point, what does Midvalley do, play music perhaps? Heh, I could do that if I applied myself. I could do it better than Master could ever imagine. Perhaps I shall visit him later. Pay a special visit'  
  
Arduous footsteps sounding like heavy boots on newly polished tile jarred Legato out of his thought. He listened closely to them; they were too light to be E.G mine's, definitely not Dominique either. The footsteps stopped and Legato inched his way toward the entrance to his room, there was no door so it was easy enough to see out. He could hear the sound of pained breathing, and the faint dripping of. . . water? Next came a loud thud. The breathing stopped. Cautiously Legato poked his head out the door, taking a quick glance around before pulling back. If Master was coming, he did not want to be spotted out of place, the man hated it when he looked into his eyes, heavens only know what would happen if he was roaming about without authorization.  
  
A heap of bruised flesh, bound in fine brown leather lay motionless on the floor. The person, the man had obviously been selected by Master as part of his crew, this new idea he had organized; apparently this poor guy did not quite fit the job description. Pitty, he was barely out of his twenties by the looks of it and well trained, built like a brick house. The only loss of his was that he could have passed as Cro-Magnon man with features like his.  
  
Beaten and battered, his body bled, forming a pool of liquid life on the floor that ran downhill through the cracks in the tile. Legato watched with mild interest as the blood ran past his doorway and continued on its way. Kneeling to examine the substance, he coated his fingertips with it, admiring the fact that it was still warm even thought it was separated from the source.  
  
He brought his blood-coated fingers to his now trembling lips, almost eager for whatever might be placed upon them, thirsty as it might be called. The very thought of drinking another beings blood irked something in the back of him mind, almost making him sick- but blood was as good a drink as any. . .Despite its nature. Ignoring all signals that his body was sending him that what he was doing was against everything natural, he spread the blood across his lips like a balm then continued to lick it off. Calling him vampiric would have been a stretch, merely curious would have fit perfectly however. The taste was quite different from his own blood; it was, smoother, cleaner. He dipped his fingers in the blood again, this time taking a moment to examine it before even daring to place it upon himself. Before he could move to smear the blood across his lips once more, a hand was rested on his bad shoulder, causing him to let out a restrained shriek of pain.  
  
"You need to get that checked out." An unfamiliar tenor voice cooed with mother-like care.  
  
Legato looked down at the polished brown leather shoes and slowly progressed to black dress pants, neatly pressed black suit, and eventually a high, pink collar of a blouse. He diverted his vision to the body of the dead man, and then to the blood soaked floor.  
  
"Name's Midvalley, Midvalley the Hornfreak, what's yours?"  
  
Legato remained silent. Nobody ever asked him his name, they all just. . . knew. "Slave." He answered slowly, almost stuttering over he word.  
  
"Slave? I could have sworn Knives called you Legato." Midvalley shrugged.  
  
"My name is Slave, Midvalley the Hornfreak, or would freak be a more proper name for you?"  
  
Midvalley removed his hand from Legato and threw both hands in the air as a mock surrender. " Hey, hey, no need to get touchy, why don't you come back to my room so I can set that shoulder for you."  
  
Legato glared at Midvalley for awhile before standing up, eyes narrowed, showing his chafed feelings. "I don't need your pity human."  
  
"I have food."  
  
~~  
  
Legato sat half naked on a wooden stool while Midvalley bandaged and set his injured shoulder. He winced as the bandage was tightened, idly wondering if all humans were this rough when they were dealing with delicate matter such as this one. A slight chuckle of satisfaction escaped the man's lips as he admired his craftsmanship at successfully bandaging a wound.  
  
"That should do ya!" Pride and joy rang through Midvalleys voice as he gave Legato a slap on the injured shoulder for emphasis.  
  
The sharp gasp signaled for all how much that little blow hurt, the fact that is was followed by a pair of golden eyes willing to stare death into anyone who crossed them was only adding to the matter.  
  
"Sorry." Midvalley whispered.  
  
With a rebuff, Legato snatched his formerly white shirt off of the bedspread and wriggled his way into it, taking care not to rub against his injury. Trying in vain to brush some of the wrinkles out, he rose to his feet and proceeded towards the doorway, having no intentions of thanking, or even showing what little gratitude he had, it was human nature to do so. Something stopped him in his tracks, looking behind his shoulder through navy bangs, he stared directly into Midvalley's ebony eyes.  
  
"You said you had food."  
  
Midvalley sighed "Is that all you ever think of?" He grabbed a paper sack and extended it for Legato to take at will.  
  
Likewise, Legato grabbed for it, Midvalley pulled it back. He tried to snatch it again, Midvalley dangled it over his head. An annoyed expression crept onto Legato's face as he gazed longingly at the parcel, cursing his short stature.  
  
"A little beyond your reach Gato'?" Midvalley teased, evidently enjoying this game.  
  
One last time Legato lunged for the food. He missed yet again and slammed hard into Midvalley's chest, knocking both of them over. They laid there for awhile, Midvalley, having the wind knocked out of him, took this time to catch his breath, while Legato on the other hand put all his effort into grabbing his promised food that, ostensibly would always be just out of his grasp.  
  
"So. . ." Midvalley started, "you weren't kidding when you asked about the food." He finished and shook the bag in a mini victory.  
  
"Give it to me." Legato demanded, his stomach roared in anticipation of whatever treat might be in the bag. He tried to grab it again, but as always Midvalley pulled it just a little further away.  
  
"And ruin my fun? Are you kidding?" He laughed and slid from under Legato, leaving him lying on the floor. "Besides, my lunch is in here to. You're not the only one who has to eat."  
  
Legato growled menacingly and hoisted himself up on the stool he had been sitting on so that he was propped up on his chest. His stomach growled again, this time louder than before.  
  
"Damn. . . Doesn't Knives ever feed you?"  
  
"That's none of your concern human." Legato tried to get the bag again.  
  
Midvalley gave a small laugh "You keep calling me human, you're forgetting that you yourself are also human.  
  
Before he could react, Midvalley found himself bent over backwards, still clutching the bag of food. The pain was excruciating, every muscle, every ligament had been stretched and twisted in an unnatural way. Legato chuckled lowly, he was waiting for the essential 'snap' of cracking bone. It had become a rather familiar sound to him over the years of servitude to the Master. Finally Midvalley dropped the bag, upon seeing this, Legato let him go, completely forgetting about breaking him in half.  
  
Legato literally crawled over to the bag, his left arm hanging limply by his side, the right one was worse for the ware since he, for all accounts, tackled Midvalley. The Hornfreak laid on the floor, his back arched, rubbing his probably bruised skin with the utmost care. Meanwhile Legato tore the bag open with his teeth and was currently shredding some tin foil. It took a couple minuets for Midvalley to recover enough to sit up even remotely straight, for the time, he was just thankful that whatever the hell happened to him, that it had stopped. Blinking a few times, hands still rubbing his back tenderly, he shifted his primary attention to 'Gato, as he decided to call him now, and his valliant, but one-sided battle with aluminum foil. He managed to restrain himself from laughing, only letting out soft snickers disguised by hoarse coughs following them.  
  
"Here let me help you with that." Midvalley picked up the partially unwrapped parcel, wiping the dool that had 'Gato gotten on it on the bed, not wanting to dirty his clothes. Carefully, he picked away at the package, not really head-over-heels for touching a chewed package.  
  
"You just couldn't wait –till- you got it open to start gnawing away, could you?" Said Midnalley in his usual joking tone.  
  
An anxious Legato peered up at him with a 'You're-not-going-to-eat-that-are- you-you-bastard?' type of look. 'Now it was time for some real fun' Midvalley mused to himself and sat on the bed, near the stool. Quickly he smeared some of the icing on his hand, and showed it in Legato's face, trying to see what he could make him do. As expected, he was served with a look of utter disgust if not repulsion on Legato's half.  
  
"What do you take me for, a sheer toy to be played with as you will? It was evident from the cold tone that the joke did not strike as remotely funny to him.  
  
Midvalley only smirked. "It's only fair, you got to play with me, now it's my turn"  
  
The look on Legato's face had changed from disgust to a sneer as he lowered himself to eating on the behalf of a tainted being, it was vile, sickening, and by the looks of it, the only available meal of the day, which served to make things even more repulsive than they already were. Midvalley snickered as the Legato's detest for having to do anything that 'The Master' did not order.  
  
Wasting no time at all, Legato pushed himself to his feet and took a seat fully on the bed, grasping fingers clawing desperately for food. A grin spread from ear to ear on Midvalley. Right then a sinister idea popped into his head, the consequences to his actions would be a little less than appealing, but the expression on 'Gato's face would be priceless. Running a hand through Legato's hair gently, he paused to look at the boy's face. "Good dog." He laughed, not noticing the hurt, and slightly betrayed look on the other's visage  
  
"Good dog?" Legato reiterated slowly as he turned to look at the floor, memories of some of the 'best' days of his life with Master came flooding back at light speed.  
  
~~  
  
The dimly lit room was bathed in a soft yellow light. It was nighttime,  
as it always was when Master demanded his presence, something about this  
time of day was almost supernatural, ethereal. A figure sat on a fine  
mahogany bed, cloaked in robes of fine black satin, luxurious,  
bittersweet, a mystery, only the best for an angel. Fair blonde hair,  
almost white was grown long, threatening to sweep past his shoulders, it  
only added to the man- no, the angel's charm. A faint aroma of roses  
engulfed the room, immersing everyone and thing in it with devil-like  
allure. A rose, deep red, threatening to plunge into a black shade laid  
comfortably in The Master's loose grip. He was sitting up, leaning on the  
bed frame, legs arched in the air, and the hand that carried the rose was  
hung languidly over the side of the divan. He was beautiful. The clothes  
that adorned him were a blemish, a dishonor to his figure, they could  
never to his body justice, nothing could.  
  
"Slave, come to me." Knives beckoned in the 'come hither' way he did so  
well. "I want you, now."  
  
The boy entered the room quickly, as though the fires of hell itself were  
at his heels. It was hard to hide the fact that he was young, barely  
eight if that. Although his age was minute, he was tall and lanky, edging  
on five feet, impressive given his time. His features were just starting  
to define, something that normally would have happened in years to come.  
The outline of his figure was a dead giveaway that he was malnourished,  
weak, simply skin and bones. Yet something in his eyes, those uncanny  
yellow eyes gave him a look of superior strength, a spirit that, no  
matter what may come, could not be broken.  
  
"Yes Master." The quivering voice answered back with as much reverence as  
it could muster as the boy, Legato, gradually stepped forward.  
  
"No! Not like that!" Knives virtually shouted, odd considering his normal  
tone he used. "Crawl to me." The second half of his statement came far  
quieter, almost casual.  
  
"Yes Master, as you wish." Legato lowered himself to his hands and knees  
and scraped across the floor's rough surface that could have given  
sandpaper a run for its money. Spots of blood appeared on the coarse  
concrete floor, it was a shame that the beauty of the room itself had to  
descent by the lack of proper carpeting.  
  
When he finally reached the Master's side, his legs were threadbare, a  
bloody mess, but he was happy for it. It was what The Master wanted. A  
gloved hand, delicate yet forceful, stroked his hair in approval as a  
perverse smirk appeared on Master's lips. "Good dog, slave, good dog, why  
don't you rest on my bed for a moment?"  
  
"Of course Master." Legato got up and sat on the Master's black, satin  
sheets. Almost afraid of ruining them with his deficiency.  
  
"Lay down." A command, not a request, and it would be followed, no  
questions asked.  
  
"Yes Master." Legato did as he was told, he knew what was next, whether  
he wanted it or not was something beyond his mental capacity, but he  
recognized what was going on. That. Was what he wanted, what he yearned  
for.  
  
"You're doing quite well today Slave" The master said as he joined moved  
in closer to Legato, so close to touching him, but still remaining away,  
painfully away from him. "You please me."  
  
Tears of gratitude swept down Legato's face, yet his face remained blank  
as a slate, null and void to all emotion. Nice remarks were few and far  
in between, usually blood sport, and deep bruises were his just reward.  
Knives brushed away one of his tears and tasted the tart texture. A smile  
spread across his eyes, his faultless crystalline blue angel eyes. Knives  
then grabbed a needle from his pocket, a simple metal needle use to sew,  
and started making thin cuts in Legato's receptive flesh. Beads of pure,  
ruby blood formed from the scratches.  
  
"Do you know why I do this Slave?" The sound of that wonderful voice  
silenced all in that room, even the electric buzz of the lamp seemed to  
quiet as he spoke.  
  
Legato choked on his sentence. The worst possible thing the Master could  
do was ask that one question right now.  
  
"Because I have yet to find your brother, for my neglect to bring him to  
you, this is my-" Knives pressed a gentle finger against Legato's lips.  
  
"Say it in five words or less." He coaxed.  
  
Legato was shaking again, he had become rather brilliant in that field so  
it would seem. "Because I didn't find him"  
  
Knives stabbed him in the chest, breaking the needle in the process.  
Legato tried to cry out in pain before a callous slap to the face stopped  
him. " I said five words or less, not six. You disappointed me." His tone  
was no longer as smooth and alluring as it had been, instead in changed;  
changed into the tone that would be most fitting to a serpent, guttural,  
malicious.  
  
Legato squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the last of his tears out,  
praying he could magically erase his words. He went from good to bad in 6  
words, well 5 and a half, or something of that nature doesn't matter what  
it was, he did wrong, he had failed. The stinging sensation in his cheek  
burned like fire as he reached to touch it, but a hand stopped him.  
Knives. Master.  
  
"What makes you think you are allowed to do that? You are my dog, and you  
will do as I command. You are my dog, and I am your Master. Remember  
that."  
  
"I am your dog. . . your bitch?" His voice replied with the innocence of  
a child.  
  
"Exactly, good dog."  
  
~~  
  
Midvalley finally stopped laughing and noticed that Legato's head was  
buried deep into the covers, his whole body was in a rather lethargic,  
motionless state with the exception of his shoulders, which were shaking  
ever so vaguely. Was he crying? Was it something I said? Oh. . . "Hey,  
'Gato it was just a joke, don't take it personally!" Midvalley said,  
voice half panicked. "'Gato?"  
  
He wasn't moving. Midvalley laid a hand on him, shaking his slightly,  
still no movement. 'Oh crap, I killed Knives' boy toy.' Was the first  
coherent thought to cross his mind. He knew that there was no way he'd  
live to breathe another day if that was the case. His hand traveled to  
the back of Legato's neck, rubbing the hair that was in the way of bare  
skin Legato shifted a little, the calming feeling on the back of his neck  
pried him out of his daydream state. As soon as his eyes opened, they  
almost instinctively went to focus on the cake.  
  
"You're relentless on this cake!" Midvalley joked and softly forced  
Legato into a sitting position. "You want it?" Legato nodded his head  
groggily, still not quite with it, and still remembering what had gone on  
all those years ago.  
  
"Open your mouth Gato', I'm starting to doubt your ability to feed  
yourself."  
  
Legato protested a bit, but gave in after the aroma of chocolate smacked  
him straight in the face, he didn't have the willpower to resist that  
temptation. Midvalley broke off a small chunk in cake and placed it  
inside Legato's awaiting mouth. When he finished with that, Midvalley  
placed another chunk in his mouth till it was gone. It was only a matter  
of time after the food disappeared from the scene that Legato had drifted  
into a quiet sleep, using Midvalley's lap as his own personal pillow.  
  
"Poor kid" Midvalley whispered quietly to himself as he gazed down at the  
sleeping figure on him "I'll be watching over you, don't worry. . ."  
  
A grunt of abhor ruined the scene, catching Midvalley off guard. Lo and  
behold, the infamous Knives Million was leaning in the threshold, glaring  
at him like a gothic gargoyle statue atop a cathedral, it was a look that  
he had perfected along with so many other things. 


	3. Midvalley's back, back again

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun, but I took the liberty to add in some missing detail that I did not find in the series.  
  
As always, they met in a dark room, it was never any different. Must have been a sort of fetish Knives had for the dark, the gloomy cold that it had to offer, almost like a drug. It was a larger room, not titanic in size, but fair enough to rival most in this place, this supposed Eden that was created by his hands. A window was open on the east wall near the ceiling, a good twenty-five feet up. Blinding sunlight filtered through it, spotlighting Knives. If he had wings, the man would have passed as the angel of death the way he stood there, shoulders squared, tall, dignified, face hidden in a shadow, nothing but his eyes keeping vigil was visible.  
  
Midvalley stood there in unconditional silence, trying to keep his composure, trying to stay suave. He had taken the autonomy to put on a change of clothes before appearing in the presence of Knives, it would have been discreditable had he come looking like an unmade bed. Smoothing out a wrinkle in his white suit and making sure the collar of his favorite pink shirt was unfurled, he gave a bow to the man before him, not wanting to be disrespectful, especially no to a being as powerful as he. Knives made no indications that he was even aware of Midvalley's presence, he just stood there in stony silence, staring right through the lesser being opposing him. Something had gotten to him. Something had upset the balance.  
  
"Do you know what happens to those who disobey me?" Knives' voice echoed through the room, making everything else seem so little and unimportant in comparison. Indeed, something was going on, malevolence was coded in his pitch.  
  
"Yes. . .Master" Midvalley's own voice replied with the demeanor of a cornered mouse against his will. It almost made him wince the way he sounded so pathetically insignificant.  
  
"What did I tell you about him?" Again, Knives stern tone carried through strong.  
  
"Keep away from him at all times unless told to do otherwise....Master"  
  
"And what did you do?" The emphasis went heavily on the last word, like he was scolding someone.  
  
"I fed him? Master."  
  
"And?"  
  
"Comforted him. . .Master?"  
  
"Exactly. If you intend on living another day you will leave him alone, do you understand?" Spoken with as much understanding as a chronic sociopath could congregate, it was in the least, a statement coming from the bottomless pit of the dark soul Knives possessed.  
  
"Yes Master."  
  
"Good, now leave!" The voice sent a chill down the Hornfreak's spine, quite an accomplishment on its own.  
  
~~  
  
Midvalley walked briskly down the hallway, feet beating against the solitary white tiled floor, deeply flustered by 'master' Knives. What kind of idiot had he been to surrender all free will and ideas just to live a few more years? Must have been the music talking instead of him, that crazy wonderful music. Maybe it was worth it after all.  
  
When he arrived at his door he searched his pockets for the key, tilting his head backwards in defeat when he didn't find it on the first try. Lazily, he wondered if he was genius enough to lock himself out of his own room, he was leaning towards the theory that he as when he removed his suit and thoroughly went through the pockets. In a bout of anger he threw the coat against the door and paced back and forth, trying to let some steam out. It took him a while before he finally reached to pick up his coat and put it back on, he could not have cared less at the time whether it was dirty now or not. The main problem was figuring a way inside before someone noticed. He hadn't been around this place more than a day or two; the absolute last thing he wanted was to make a fool of himself when he was new. In a last attempt to free himself, he searched his pockets one last time to no avail.  
  
"Damnit." He snapped as he withdrew his hands from his pockets, running them through his hair, a nervous habit. "Where the he-"  
  
Something beneath his foot crunched. Raising his leather clad foot to see what in damnation it was, he found the little silver key mocking him right in the face like it had been there all along.  
  
"Bastard. . ." Midvalley spat while he bent over to retrieve the key.  
  
~~  
  
Legato sat on his bed staring out the glassless window into oblivion. There was nothing to look at anyway, sand, sand, and if you were lucky, more sand. He sighed and dangled his arm outside. Maybe master was angry with him; he had not visited all day. Could it be he found Midvalley and I? No, master would have let me know. Is he thinking of ways to punish me and just torturing me right now to drive me insane, and-. . .No, not that either. Why hasn't Midvalley been around? That cake was very good. I wonder if he has more. . .I wish someone were here, even if it was that Edgar Mine. I never quite got what inspired him to wear that stupid ball thing everywhere. You think he would have trouble going to the bathroom and what not.  
  
A loud thud disrupted Legato's thinking. He eyed the wall wearily then returned his gaze to the red desert plain, preparing for another glorious day of boredom in the excruciating heat; the very though zapped half of the energy out of him. The noise came again. This time Legato walked over and pressed his head to the wall. Muffled cursing and loud footsteps pounded like thunder from Midvalley's room. Legato only rolled his eyes, this man was far more trouble than he was worth. Imbecile human scum. . .  
  
In no time at all Legato pulled on a semi-clean white shirt and a pair ragged, tan colored cloth pants and stuck his head out the open door. No one was coming; it was safe to assume everybody else was out and about at this hour.  
  
Stepping outside his door and taking an astounding three whole steps across the hall to room twelve, Midvalley's of course, he knocked lightly on the cheap plastic door, it creaked open a hair, revealing nothing but a dark room without windows, or much else for that matter. The cursing did not seem to stop so Legato pushed the door open just a little further. As he has assumed, there was barely anything in the room, just a bed, neatly made, a table with clean, pressed clothes draped across it, and a nightstand with all manor of thing upon it, most notable was a bottle of red wine and a box of condoms, and a variety of devices that could be used for some rather obscene purposes. One did not have to go far to guess what his mind was usually on.  
  
Curiously He poked his head in, making damn sure he did not bump his shoulder on the door, giving away his presence. His eyes darted around, surveying the place before he even dared to waltz in. It looked pretty safe, with the exception that Midvalley was nowhere in sight. Taking his first step, he stubbed his toes on another wine bottle; it occurred to him that it might have been the cause of the first noise.  
  
"So, that's why the schlemiel is angry" Legato muttered under his breath.  
  
"Who's there?" Midvalley growled, his words were slurred with the presence of alcohol. He took a step or two forward, stumbling over his own two feet and crashing to the ground like a ton of bricks.  
  
Quickly, Legato shut the door and raced back to his own room. Midvalley sounded angry, anger usually meant one thing. Punishment. By the time Midvalley made it to his feet again and slammed his door wide-open, Legato was safely tucked into bed and pretending to sleep. He even pulled the hole- ridden sheet over his head and clung onto it for blessed life. Biting his lip in anticipation, he listened to Midvalley the Hornfreak plod up and down the hall, muttering every profanity his narrow mind could possibly conjure up. The bout of anger stopped almost as soon as it had started, then entire building fell into an unnatural silence. Cautiously, Legato traced his fingers over the diaphanous sheets that he used to protect himself and, after a time, gained the courage to remove them. His eyes zipped around nervously as they had before, ready to snap shut the instant he saw something was out of place.  
  
"You wanted to see me?" a half-drunken Midvalley stuttered, a scandalous smile on his lips, and a fresh bottle of Ascott brandy in his hand.  
  
Frantically searching around for the source of the voice, he spotted Midvalley leaning against his doorway, legs barely able to support his weight; chances were that the building was the only thing keeping him upright. His clothes were amiss, furrowed, something that was highly unlikely to occur in the norm for him. Dark circles hung around his eyes, a sharp difference when you take into matters his newly pallid face, must have been something horrible to drain the color from him.  
  
"I want nothing of the sort."  
  
"C'mon you know you want me." Midvalley cackled, nearly about to fall over with that action.  
  
"What makes you think that, human?" A new defiance rang in his voice.  
  
Midvalley's face went from happy and drunken loon to pure austerity. His brown hair, normally slicked back was in disarray, his eyes glassed over by the effects of alcohol, and his lips pulled into a straight, narrow line across his face. Legato's Pupils shrank into tiny specs, he took a closer look at Midvalley; obviously the man was nothing less than incompetent at the moment, but his weary features exhumed a memory long since buried.  
  
-Flashback-  
  
"Legato. . .Come mere' boy. Don't you want to see your ol' man anymore?" Bourbon slurred his light southern accent. Normally he was drunk, hell, he was always drunk, had been since mom died, he never quite got over it. None of us did, but he was the only one drinking his life away, about to orphan two innocent children.  
  
He sat in his broken down black chair and ran a hand through his thick, brown hair, so unlike mine in color and texture. His eyes, black if I remember, clouded with the pleasant bliss of drowning yourself in liquor; it's all he ever cared about. Lazily, he let his glass slip to the floor; it rolled across the room and stopped at my feet. Uncertainly I retrieved the empty china and replaced it to its rightful place on the fine glass coffee table, possibly the only nice thing in our crummy apartment, it was mom's.  
  
"Boy, come sit with me for a moment. . .Want to talk to you about school." His silver-tongued baritone voice was composed, respectable, but his manor refused to let me see him as his voice presented.  
  
As I took a closer look at him I can see that the damned pink blouse he was so insistent on wearing was stained with blood. He did not seem to mind though; he left it half unbuttoned at the bottom. Something caught my eye; a pin that was fastened to the cuff of his sleeve, 'Orion B. Summers, assistant manager of Pete's Saloon' was engraved plain as day on the small, gold pin. Assistant manager my ass. All he has ever done for six months was get piss drunk and come home, expecting undying love from me. Love in more ways than one.  
  
Like I was told I took a seat on the arm of his chair. He smiled his dopey, lopsided smile, pushed me on his lap, and started his evil little tickling war. I squirmed and writhed under his fingers, if there was one, and only one thing he was ever good at, it was finding the most sensitive place and brushing his finger over it. After a long while of senseless playing he put me back up on the arm of his chair.  
  
'Maybe he isn't so bad after all.' Was one of the many stupid things I thought as a child, and my first mistake.  
  
As Orion got up and shuffled his way to his bedroom I followed; I knew what would happen if I did not, my sister was too precious to risk. He sat down on his tan cloth sheets and removed one ungodly smelling shoe after another, then fell back onto his mattress, barely aware of anything besides the pornographic thoughts encircling his mind. Now was the time for me to climb onto his bed and mingle with the buttons on his blouse, if he ruined it, -I- of all people would be blamed. When all the buttons were carefully undone I rolled him over to completely remove the article of clothing and discarded it on the back of the dresser. His skin was cold to the touch, had I not know better I would have thought he was dead. Out of lament more than pity I moved him to his back and clung on his broad chest, giving away what heat I could spare. He was my dad after all; I still loved him, even if it was questionable. He was the only parent I had, and I was grateful.  
  
"Legato?" He moaned in his somnolence.  
  
"Yes father?"  
  
He pushed himself up on his elbows, making me slide down to his waist. There was already something waiting for me there. A wistful glint hung in his eyes while he stared upon my fragile, young body.  
  
"Do you know what I want don't you boy?" A hand ruffed my navy hair and traced down my neck to my back.  
  
Tears welled behind my eyes; tears of regret, sorrow, and gratitude. Obeying the unspoken law of his, that I must follow come hell or high water, I unfastened his belt and waited for what was coming next. Letting him please himself for the few moments before he sought higher entertainment, I slinked to the side of the bed and tried my hardest to remember why I was doing his. His moans of pleasure only proved to raise the nausea in me, I couldn't stand him, his sounds, his body, his very being. I know he's not like the other fathers. I've seen them. They love their children; a hug or kiss never was anything more than a symbol of that love. None of the other fathers ever hit their children like mine did. None of the other kids ever had to explain to the principal about the bruises.  
  
'My sister. My sister, she is why I let have me. She will not be his. Ever.' I repeated over and over in my head, she gave me something to hope for, she gave me a reason to stay, and she gave me a promise of a bright future.  
  
"" Legato, it's time."  
  
-End-  
  
Hot breath caressed Legato in fumes of cheap brandy and foreign gin, unpleasant to say the least. Apparently while he was preoccupied with digging up the past, the dolt had taken the chance to get close to him. Without further ado Midvalley took a seat on Legato's bed, wrapped his arms around his waist, and laid his head comfortably on the other man's lap, smiling contently as he nuzzled his way into a more comfortable position. 


	4. Unforgiven Memories

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun.  
  
Author's Notes: To smut or not to smut, that is the question.  
  
"Get away from me" Legato warned, blood flushed from his cheeks and gathered in the pit of his stomach, leaving a woozy feeling behind as he broke away from the other man's grasp and scooted against the bed frame, legs glued to chest, leaving Midvalley face down in sheets snickering to himself like a madman.  
  
"Now why would I do that, we being friends and all? Or, is there something you're afraid of Legato? Midvalley propped himself up on his elbows, still trying to gain his composure.  
  
"Leave. Now." The firm reply sounded almost unnatural coming from Legato, far from his mouse-like demeanor.  
  
An uncomfortable silence existed between them as the grin on Midvalley's happily drunken smile extended. The sun hid behind giant red sand dunes, and light ceased to shine through the window, causing the temperature to fall immensely. Soon, it would be as though the entire region was covered in polar ice; but that's the way the desert works, a sort of double-edged blade, hot by day, artic by night. A never-ending cycle, as the sun must rise and fall, the sands burn and freezes.  
  
"It's get'n a little cold now, don't ya think? You still warm o'er there?" Midvalley positioned himself to a half crouching half sitting position, forcing the mattress to visibly flatten under his weight.  
  
Legato's jaw dropped, when he told people to do something, they did it, but not him. Why? What does he want. . .with me. . .right now? If it's booze he wants, I'll just tell him I do not have any, then he will leave, right? . . .Right? But. . .I wonder, is he more like my father than I thought? He ran his fingers through his hair in disgust, eventually loosing all hope and flopping himself against the wall for support.  
  
"Really that bad o'er there?" The now smug look on his face only increased in depth as Legato sat in silence. "Let me help you."  
  
Midvalley crawled toward Legato in the 'come hither' way that he did everyone, Legato was like everyone else, either a customer, or a patient. He was just for easy kicks on a Saturday night. He made no difference.  
  
~ You look so much like him,  
  
I can almost see his face as  
  
I gaze into your eyes.  
  
~  
  
Legato stared into his eyes. What was the point in running away, or even fighting? There was no way out of here- besides the window, which in itself was a nine-foot drop onto broken rock shards. I can stay here and take this. . .or I can run away like a wuss and have him chase after me. . . Eh, I don't feel like moving, I might get food this way.  
  
Uncomfortably, Midvalley's weight pressed against Legato, almost imbedding him in the plaster wall added to the desperate, queasy feeling inside him. He squirmed, trying to catch a glimpse of air that, like so many other things, never came. Soon a hallow sickness pried into his shriveled, dehydrated organs, that had, for too long, been away from any liquid besides waste. I remember this feeling all to well. . .It's the same feeling I had all those years ago. . .with my father, my controller. I just want this feeling to pass, this unexplained nausea. It's like flu, a disease, a human virus, eating away at my whole. Just get it over with; all things will come to pass. Just get it over with. . .over. . .forever.  
  
Once more Legato peered into the man's eyes, grabbing hold of his chin with index and thumb, holding it firmly still so he could focus. Licking his lips out of nervous habit, he started one of many life-changing decision, one of the moments that would define who he is, and who is was to be. "Do you want me?" Legato's voice cracked halfway through the simple sentence, causing him to twitch at the change that, at that very moment in time, had to happen.  
  
An amused, if not drunken 'Hmm.' was' drawn from Midvalley. "Is it really that obvious?" His voice also cracked, comforting Legato a little.  
  
~ You cast the same reflection  
  
Walk the same path  
  
You ask for my body,  
  
Demand my soul,  
  
His will his intentions engraved in me  
  
I was always his never mine  
  
I am his once again. ~  
  
"Get it over with before I grow tired of your humanity. Consider yourself lucky I grace you in my presence." Legato's voice trembled and started to crack at the end, hopefully not enough to show fear; fear is the mind killer, fear is what destroys you, destroys me.  
  
"So you are afraid of me." Midvalley cackled in reply, easing off of him, allowing air to reach starved lungs.  
  
Damn, he noticed  
  
"Just do it."  
  
"Do what?" Now he was just having fun, playing with his toy. He's more like my father than I previously thought. . .  
  
Legato let got of Midvalley's face abruptly. The frustration leaking out of Legato's amber eyes kept no secrets of a short, angry, chaotic life that he was forced to live. Had Midvalley paid attention to the eyes that shot daggers into him, it would have been anyone's bet that he would have turned into a pillar of salt and crumbled away right on the spot. Instead he was intently fiddling with Legato's torn collar, pulling it down to its limits to catch a peek at his body.  
  
"Are you going to sit there all day?" Legato said through tightly clenched teeth, restraining himself from unleashing a fury of obscenities at human ignorance.  
  
Tearing himself away from the view, Midvalley cocked his head to the side in the 'what-the-hell-did-I-do' expression and stared. Eons pass, eons in which nothing moved, nothing spoke; unnatural silence once more.  
  
I hate the way he does this. No one takes their time with me. NO ONE but Master. Is he Master? No. Obviously he's too-too human to fully understand this situation. Always like me to catch the disease of ignorance; it is about time I cured it.  
  
"Get off of me." Legato demanded harshly.  
  
No reply.  
  
"Get off me. Now."  
  
No reply.  
  
Ignorant bastard. . .  
  
"Fine."  
  
~  
  
Your touch leaves scars upon my flesh  
  
Your words cut deep within my heart,  
  
Your ways remind me of him ~  
  
Yanking Midvalley forward by the seem of his pants, Legato undid the simple black leather belt and tossed it on the table, buckle making a shallow 'plunk' noise as it fell to the concrete floor.  
  
"What?" Midvalley questioned, as the tails of his pink blouse were un- tucked.  
  
"Shut up and stay still."  
  
" Gato'. . ."  
  
Silenced by a rough hand and a pair blazing golden eyes mixed with the look of death upon his face; Midvalley complied and remain perfectly still. No use in ruining the moment . . .  
  
~Flashback~  
  
" You know boy, ever since your mother died I've been very lonely. Everyday I get up and work so you and your sister can have food five days a week. You know how hard it is for me to leave alone with the baby, but some things have to be done. Gato, you know I love ya kid, but we have'ta do something bout' that dog of yours."  
  
"It's mom's dog, she'll come back for it one day."  
  
"God damnit boy, I told you she's dead. Dead! She is never coming back; you have to get use to that son. She's not coming back! His voice reeked of despair and hatred, a furious combination that killed any will you had to protest; a tone of voice I loathed more than the demon himself.  
  
Hot tears slowly made their way out of their restraints, over my cheeks and down my chin, leaving dark marks on my new red T-shirt. Why did he have to remind me? I was five when mom died, he told me she would come back, he TOLD me. He would never lie about a thing like that. Would he? No, never, he knew how much she meant to me, to us. And she is coming back one day; I can feel it, like she's right next to me. . .in my heart. I don't care what he says, I know she'll be back, I know people come back after they die, I just know it.  
  
"Dun' be cryin' boy, there's nothin' to be cryin' bout." His voice made the change from angry to enraged, a calm tone that made you let your guard down right before he strikes.  
  
How could he say there is nothing to cry about? Mom died, my sister's sick, the dog. There is to plenty of stuff to cry about!  
  
His harsh tone made me flinch at every word. He was mad, scratch that, he was enraged. I know him mad, he doesn't yell when he's mad, he jus' hits me round a bit, nothing much. But now- now all the color is gone from him, his face is porcelain white, only his coal black eyes (that I could have sworn flashed red) gave color to him. His fist clenched when I continued to cry; now his knuckles were turning white. I sniffled a bit, trying to stop my tears from flowing, trying to stop the unstoppable. His breathing became hoarse. I was a step away from-  
  
His leathery hand trailed across my face, hurling me several feet away into the drywall, making a small dent where my head impacted. I didn't realize anything happened till I opened my eyes and he was walking toward me- then the pulsating heat in the back of my head abruptly drew me to full alertness. I reached a hand to my skull. Blood, blood redder than the setting sun over crimson sand. Not sure what I felt then, shock is probably the best way to describe it. I had been slapped before, but it never did more than sting for a few minuets. He. . .never purposely. . .never would. . .hit me that. . .hard. . . .Would he?  
  
I remember he lifted me up off the ground by my hair and, as though I were a rag doll, threw me aside with a thud. I rolled head over heels twice before coming to a halt on the back of the chair. His chair. I mistakenly took the time to see how hideous that thing really was, when I should have been ducking for cover.  
  
Loud curses rang through the air like the bullets flying in war did in my history book. That was one of the few times I was truly terrified of my father. Sure I'd been hurt, even scared by his words, but when you hear a line of twenty DIFFERENT cuss words in a row you know something's gone bad!  
  
"You broke my wall boy," He choked down what looked to have tasted like molten lead by his expression. "Do you know how much this place cost, damnit!"  
  
Oh.crud. I was in for it now.  
  
"You can't jus go round destroying things, boy!"  
  
My tears stopped, my eyes felt like they were about to explode with terror, my throat felt like brand new sandpaper, I could not breath, much less willingly move. All I could do was sit there and tremble. Tremble like a baby.  
  
He must have seen the desperate fear in me, for the next thing he did was pick me up. . .by the hair and proceeded to drag me to the bedroom. I clawed at his arm, leaving trails of blood down his sleeves, kicked wildly with all my power, without leaving a bruise or getting him to slow down. The next thing I knew was I went from ground to mid-air to creaky mattress in no time at all. I bounced up once before he pined me down by the neck with his hand. I knew it was over. He was going to kill me right then and there. Now I was just waiting for him to get out his pocketknife and cut out my heart, like in those books. Well, as long as I am about to die, might as well tell him everything, can't hurt any now.  
  
"I saw you here last night with Carol."  
  
" W-What?" My father's voice jumped an octave, must'v struck a nerve or sumthin'.  
  
"Yeah, I saw you two, the noise woke me up, and and and, I got up to see on the baby and I was going to get a bottle of water so she could go back to sleep." I paused, face twisted in thought. "You woke her up dad."  
  
"I don't care about that, what did you see?"  
  
His hand moved from me to his side as he stumbled backward, colliding with the dresser in a 'thud'.  
  
He didn't sound angry, well, as angry as he did. Now he sounded. . .worried. . .and curious at the same time. Maybe if I tell him everything he will get all happy and I can go to the store with him tomorrow. Or, he could get mad. . .But, if he's happy I might get to pick out what I eat! Yeah, that's great, I'm a genus!  
  
"Well, she was stroking you like you want me to do sometimes, and then she sat on you, then she moved up and down really, really fast, faster than you make me, then-then you sounded angry and growled and stuff. And, then you grabbed those lumpy things that women wear on their chest and made this funky sound like 'eeerrr-'"  
  
"Err. . ."  
  
"Yeah, kinda like that, but a lot lower and angrier!"  
  
"Did you see anything else, son?"  
  
Alright, it's working, he's getting un-mad again!  
  
"Well, umm. . . she put her mouth-"  
  
"Do you remember how she did it?"  
  
What's he getting' at?  
  
"I guess so. . ."  
  
Suddenly he tried to discard that damned pink blouse of his over the doorknob, missing by a yard, and crawled beside me in the bed, causing the ear piercing 'screeek' to shoot out from the springs. He sprawled himself out on his back, fairly hard muscle making a first appearance, ever. Visibly, the new job at the mine was starting to make itself obvious, to me anyway. He smelled strongly of sweat mixed with ground, not totally horrible, but nothing like roses; I could barely sense the 'Old Faithful' cologne that he loved so much. more than me.  
  
"Can you show me what she did?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
~End flash back~  
  
" Gato'? Gato, snap out of it."  
  
" Mrnf!" I rolled over in the bed. It squeaked, jolting me away from my nightmare.  
  
"Are you okay? Sorry, bout' that." Someone mumbled.  
  
My face hurt, scratch that, my whole head throbbed, like I ran full speed into a concrete wall headfirst. I sat up, keeping my balance on the thing that was speaking to me with a spare hand and massaged my forehead, trying to regain the 'among the living' feeling.  
  
"What happened?" Were the first words that played in my head.  
  
"Well," It paused, my assumption that, it was indeed, Midvalley the Drunken Whore. "What did you say?"  
  
"Huh?" My navy hair fell in my face, blocking both my eyes from view, I'm sure I looked like a mutt.  
  
" You said my name and somethin' bout' drunken floors. "  
  
"Whores." I corrected him.  
  
"Drunken floor whores?"  
  
My reminder why humans were becoming extinct, here it is.  
  
"Why does it hurt?" I asked in a monotone.  
  
"Remember last night when you kicked me in the groin?"  
  
No comment  
  
" Well, I kind of wasn't' drunk and. . .Punched you when I got up. . .and-"  
  
"Did two have fun fucking around last night?" A voice from close behind said.  
  
I looked up to stare in the face of. . .  
  
Completed 11-6-03 7:48 PM 


	5. In Which Nothing is Clear

_**Author's note:** Ignore the last chapter. It was some of my worst writing. From now on, I shall write this fiction to the better part of my willing ability. As a warning. . .I am mainly writing this for everyone who reads. Yes, there is a plot and so on and so forth, but you guys are the real reason I choose to update and not keep this to myself. Thank you all. Your response is priceless to me._

Happiness in Slavery – Chapter Five

The days passed with an uncomfortable fog surrounding the complex. Day turned to night, and night to day, and with everyday came a new revelation that nothing was to change. He was what he was and Midvalley; the justly named Horn"Freak" was what he was- a bastard in all conceivable meanings of the term. However, most depressing was the shift of the sands. In the fall months, the wind had picked up, preparing to cast away leaves that would never be, preparing to wipe the slate clean for winters arrival. Winter. Another season gone unknown . . .It was the hottest time of the year, while in all the ancient stories, it was told to be a time of great tidings and joy. Lies, all lies. Winter brought nothing but the arrival of barren plants, still tuned to their home planet's climate . . .Not even Knives, the saint himself could fully sway them to his will, though he tried; did he ever try.

His bed that he had made refuge in for the last decade and a half was all but made. The sheets lay tossed, ruffled, signs that it was well used, and recently too. A figure laid clumped together, half hidden in the paper-thin sheets, trying to get some sleep after a restless night filled with memories of a life not-quite-lived and questions that would never get a deserved answer.

Sand carried upon whips of dessert air managed their way into his window, that little hole in the wall that was his only access to the outside world. You could tell by his skin tone that he never traveled outside unless he was to tend to something of Master's liking. Dry air graced his skin, leaving an invisible burn mark upon his very mind, for he was never 'awake' during his thoughts, a fault of his, the ilk of which was used against him at every possible twist and turn; only by intellect, though lacking, was he spared, blessed by a life as long as this, for many of his era were lost to the heat, the dry weather, unforgiving and unforgave, like a lamb slaughtering its own kind.

Fluttering his amber eyes open as a butterfly stretches its wings before taking that first flight into oblivion, he made ready for a new, yet lackluster day, full of nothing worthwhile, except pleasing master. He lusted for the opportunity like an addict lusted for sex. Knives was his master, his drug, his tourniquet, the one god who kept him from bleeding dry. Master was his salvation, his reward in a punishment for being born a bilge rat of the planet, for polluting Gunsmoke with his presence.

With motions smoother than a prowling cat, eyes sharper than the fines blade, yet gentle as a summer rain, he was as a masterpiece stretching, sliding out of bed with a stealth master spies would sell their very souls for. Searching his drawers lazily for clothes, his fingers brushed against the empty wood where his belongings should have been. Even the picture of his parents was gone. Swallowing hard, he fought the forming lump in his throat and strip-searched the room, telling himself that he was careless, stupid even; after all, humans make mistakes. Only humans . . .

"No. . ." His breath wavered, eyes now red with anxiety, not worry, for he knew exactly what happened, and why this was going on. . .

Knives, Master, Light of his life- had seen them. . .

Sitting, rather plopping back onto his bed, he hung his head, hands racing though his hair, scolding him for being open, but more so for allowing himself to be taken for a fool. Looking to the stand by his bed, he gazed upon its surface, and if he had his way, it would have been set ablaze and been reduced into a glorious heap of ash. As things would always be, it never worked, and never would. With a heavy sigh and a morose look on his baby face that could have dimmed the sun herself, he stood up, straightening out his back, holding his nose to the air, putting on bravado by the layer.

Looking more like a rag doll than a person, he added an air of arrogance to his normal mouse swagger and proceeded down the concrete halls, like a Caesar in a royal palace. Searching the doors for clues, he scowled when he came across Midvalley's door, making a few distressed, jerky movements to signal his disgust in a physical manner. After a multitude of doors, all carrying the hope of a long, worthless life, he came across the one door that was vampric, sucking the very confidence out of his soul, leaving him worthless, scared, a pig among a den of wolves.

Staring at the brass knob, telling it to obey him, to open of its own accord so he could walks through, uninhibited, unafraid that whatever was behind that knob was out to get him, out to devour his heart, steal his mind, and rape is body of whatever it last possessed. Suddenly, it dawned on him. . .There was nothing to fear from a door. . .An inanimate object. It wasn't a horrible monster, nor a pillaging thief intent on murder. His mood as well as his low spirits rose with the idea, and wordlessly, he praised himself for HIS genius; it meant the world to him.

Not a solitary thing stopped him from extending an arm and claiming the doorknob in the grip of his hand, but he never moved from the spot, only kept staring like a good little drone, mechanical and dry. Licking parched lips, courage resting in a lump sum in the pit of his stomach, he just barely felt the chilled brass when the door creaked open. Following his deepest instincts, his feet carried himself halfway down the hall before he realized that there were no steps following him. Glancing over a cloth barren shoulder, he saw nothing but the entrance to a room, scarcely lit and heavy with the scent of plant life and fresh fruit, the likes of which only Knives possessed.

He was trembling, however softly, the fact could not be denied. Defiance. It was exciting, the feeling of an adrenaline rush surging through your body like a sinful drug, polluting the mind and pulling one from grace with the cold fingers of Lucifer. Regaining what minute composure he had the gall to claim his own, Legato straightened his back and brushed a few strands of hair away from his eyes, feigning the gentleman.

The room glared at him, emitting a cold, wavering breath that not even the bravest of medieval knights would have the bravery to conquer by steps alone. Cherries, strawberry, even watermelon, the most precious of fruits joined in the symphony of scent that drew him in like a moth to the dull matte glow of a candle. Even for a solitary moment, music could be heard playing softly. It was smooth, like the lull of a wave, sophisticated, soothing, utter perfection in the desolate place it most unfortunately had been sent to journey. Glasses clanked together dully, as if gathered in a hand and soon after set upon a fine table. Footsteps however, were not audible, only soft pattering, as though a soft peat was covering them instead of the traditional bare bronze and slate that commoners were forced to endure.

Legato forced his lips to part, which alone was an action devoid of grace and resolved with a distinct smacking noise that came unintentionally, painfully. He winced as the sound reverberated down the halls, alerting even the long since deceased to his social blunder. Hanging his head, partially in newfound humiliation and in hidden, bruised pride, he rolled his shoulders once, twice, and a third time for good measure before taking those first few, chilling steps towards the unknown which he had developed a stinging lust for.

"Stop" An all too familiar voice cooed, or rather commanded, depending on who was listening.

You could hear Legato exhale sharply as though punched in the stomach. Obedient if not masochistic, he held his ground, but with an air of pride in doing so, it was a look that few could successfully render.

"Is there something you want Legato, vagabond?" An edge remained in his voice, a melancholy razor blade amidst the secret rose petals.

The words hurt, actually hurt worse than the hellfire voice they were carried upon, true, true, although they were not malicious in intent, and the tinge of respect they were said in was prominent to his ears, something still ached within him from listening. With a short breath and an unconfident roll to the shoulders, he looked skyward, as though all the world's answers were painted on the ceiling. "Master?" The respect carried in his tone was unmatched on the premises; it was the tone of a believer- a believer in tainted love.

The faint sound of muted chuckling could be heard like a dropped needle in pure silence; a sound most deafening. The smell of fresh fruit intensified ten fold as the shifting of fine garments cascading onto the ground filled the darkened room. It was a haven, the room was. Not even the electric lights had the power to illuminate the space unless He commanded it be so. A god has the power to do that, but only one reigned supreme here.

"Come" Though but a single word, it flowed like the finest silk upon the air, danced as a fiery maiden upon invisible currents, and drifted into his mind, clouding Legato, working as a tranquilizer. He knew everything was to be perfect, because Master said so. He could never lie.

Bowing his head in a token of reverence, he proceeded with the cautiousness of a mouse in a lion's den. A meager distance separated him from Knives, never before had something so insignificant plagued him so as it did now. Seeming as if each step brought forth another meter, he stopped in his tracks, staring now at the ground, uttering a silent curse at the foundation itself.

"Slave . . ." As if in the blink of an eye, everything had changed.

Knives' s tone no longer held a soothing bite, but now lingered as barbed wire across ones chest, ripping, shredding, biting into ones very skin, clenching around your throat and shackling your legs.

Sparing no time, Legato forced himself into the room, stumbling over his feet and sprawling onto the floor with a dull scrape. Not so much as daring to open tightly closed eyes, much less move from the spot, he stayed there traumatized, as if sent out naked for public display.

Languid footsteps came towards him, soft as the budding petals of spring, but carrying more than their due share of unbridled resentment if only one were to tease the trigger of whom they belonged to. They stopped above his head, the weight settling evenly on the soft ground. A certain amount of contempt was held in the person's blatant silence. He was trying to drive him, Legato, the most loyal, trusting, obedient slave of the lot, slowly insane by doing . . .Nothing . . .Nothing at all.

As his body trembled, not in fear, but in expectation of something he had not the capacity to define; a torture, perhaps, but never one of a physical kind, for pain had little to dwell on in his mind, if nothing else, it made him all the stronger, all the wiser. Clenching his fist in a nervous reaction, his fingers gripped something soft, sinewy, rather like a fine, but rather odd, carpet. Peeking an eye open, he looked around, barely able to see much past his nose, he continued fondling the ground, searching for the word he'd long since forgotten.

"You seem to have taken a certain fancy to the grass, Slave, vagabond."

Why he was called 'vagabond' was beyond his current ability to reason; seemed more like a kick in the face than a compliment, like he was a dog, a useless, brooding, drooling mutt to be used and abused. A great weight was taken off his shoulders and he heard someone else moving about the place, their shoes scuffing the ground lightly, as if they were walking on the palm of their foot instead of stepping heel first. At least he was not alone . . .A pity still.

"Only if you do, Master . . ." He paused, biting his lip and tensing for a second " . . .Knives" Scarcely a whisper.

Everything was off. This was not how the scene played in his mind over and over; it was not as he dreamed. Although unscripted and new, it terrified him. No longer knowing what was around the next bend, much less what was after that felt like loosing all that he ever came to know.

With a heaving sigh, Knives stepped away, if only a few feet and turned his back, going back to the wine glass he had pleasured himself in taking from only a matter of time ago. As his figure eased into the awaiting chair, soft music started to play, as though a miniature orchestra were right beside them, strumming the chords and whispering into the flute, as to not make a disturbance in the presence of someone so exalted.

Jazz, it was the choice. . Utterly relaxing, making one feel as if all the self-humiliating, surrender, blind devotion, everything one could possibly do was worth the heart-breaking agony to hear this, if only for a moment. It was a once in a lifetime ordeal, for Legato was sure he'd never hear this again, not even on his deathbed and beyond.

"Beautiful. " He murmured to himself with the innocence and open mind of a child.

Strong, tapered fingers flexing, he lifted his head vigilantly, eyes partially closed all the while, adding a matte glow to the commonly amber eyes which had darkened to a light brown, or so it would seem in the low light. Master's figure stuck out as a thumbtack against tile, his slender form was outlined by the dull radiance that came from . . .a stage? Yes. . That was it, the noise, the epic number; everything had come from only feet away. Somehow the dimmed gold and red lights gave him a sense of due comfort, as if everything was to be alright, as if nothing bad could ever happen, and for the time, he enjoyed his momentary happiness among the twisted metal and ruthless people, it was a reprieve from the norm, he could not ask fairly for any more.

The people playing were shrouded in the shadows with the stage lights only highlighting undistinguishing features. A ghost masquerade, a perfect ballroom to dance in as the people of fairytales often did; this unknown place was it. The grass was a suitable crystal floor, the solitary table and wine glass, a banquet, the band, a trained orchestra, and Master, Knives? He was the prince of legend, the knight in shining armor, the belle of the ball, the prince charming . . .No. . . He was better than that.

The bottle dropped, ending the illusion that controlled his mind, casting him back into the real world, overwhelming his senses and rendering his mind in a dull, throbbing ache. Squinting his eyes, he rested his head upon an arm, groaning softly, half afraid of stopping the music with his actions.

With a wave of his gloved hand, Knives stopped everything, the band halted mid note, the artificial breeze shut down with a mechanical whir, even the player inside caught his breath in preparation for it to be their last.

"Well?" In an expectant tone as always was used when Master was disappointed, frazzled, 'cheated' of his deserved respect.

" . . .Master?" Mumbled under his breath, with a breath of morbid intrigue followed by a chest full of trepidation.

A soft, restrained snicker broke the momentary silence. He was being laughed at, mocked, held accountable for the despicable human qualities he unwillingly possessed. Biting his lip to withstand the pain of having his ego held to an open flame he eyed the bottle with a murderous gaze and held his blind devotion centerfold.

Why he stood for this treatment, kept it to his heart, endured selfless humiliation, cut out his pride, quartered it, and served it as the head of the banquet, was beyond his comprehension, but that was of no consequence, after all, it pleased Knives, Master, the symbol of life, death and everything in-between and above. Although his heart ached and bones felt as though they were glass, he rose to his feet slowly, unsure if he was choosing the correct option, taking a chance; someone had to.

Dusting his knees off self-consciously, he kept his head tilted down to avoid eye contact to keep what little stability he had grasped in a delicate fist. Knives with the wave of a hand ordered a man to play- a sax player. A chill ran through the length of Legato's spine, the type of thing that lies in wait, manifests on ones mind till the mind is all but gone and an empty shell of a man is left in the wake. His pride ached, literally ached. No one else could possibly understand, to them, this whole ordeal would seem bogus, ignorant, but they were only fools. Taking several deep breaths calmed his nerves slightly, preventing him from shaking, preventing Knives from physically seeing his malcontent, if only for the moment. You cannot hide from god.

The music was smooth as liquid metal, more alluring than fresh vanilla. It was a love song, some filthy trash humanity cooked up, but it was . . .pleasurable, enough so to dance to it. Midvalley, although playing had a smirk upon his lips. Naturally it did not show on the outside, but inside however, that was an entirely different story. From the inside his ego showed as a flare in the midnight sky, begging to be seen, begging for attention. He was pompous, complacent, suave, everything Legato never had as was never to be. The very sight was sickening.

"I never asked you to stand." The words were poison put to a verbal form, the way he said it, the tilt of his head, even the solid glance passed Legato's way, his self-righteousness was bared as well as his reign over this place; Knives acted as an Emperor, king, ruler of all that there was in this desolate land, nothing and no one would dare challenge a person like him.

Midvalley's nose wrinkled, a subconscious action, but its meaning apparent as the sudden mood of the music became darker, more intense, as though his feelings were stored within the instrument itself. Knives momentarily shifted his glance to Midvalley, if only to deliver a disdainful glance, as though unpleased, roused, even insulted by the minor action. With a slight sigh, Midvalley changed the music and returned the very same gaze he was sent, only he did it far better and with such an air of arrogance it was almost comical, if not sickening.

Silence reigned supreme, if only for a moment. For the brief interval, all that there was to hear displayed itself, every force coming together at once, fighting one another for their own chance to be heard, and once all was together, and all had been argued, endless quiet took the floor, ringing in the ears of men who dare stand before her. Knives wetted his lips, running his teeth along them before standing, the blood and dove attire clinging to his form as it always had. It fitted him to the last detail. Red, the symbol of fire, passion, power, anger, and white, the sovereign of innocence, peace, virgin love, both were needed to create fallen angels, and only both would do.

With grace immeasurable, Legato watched, watched as Master stepped towards him, taking his time, for in the end, it was the only thing there. His amber eyes fluttered for a breaths' time before closing. Clothing wrinkled, constricted as a figure knelt before him, touching a open palm to his face, running a thumb along his jaw line. Soft fingertips of rose traveled over his lidded eyes, down his cheek, stopping at his lips. Legato shivered faintly, breathing rigid, but heart on a sleeve, beating with the furry of a thousand suns. A blush set in as hot breath caressed his ear and a soft voice whispered into his mind _"It's only a dream"_

-

Morning yawned across the land, its maiden breeze penetrating the cracks in the wall, carrying red sand through the window, and catching the curtains in a dance. The sky so blue stared at him, beckoning him to move, be alive, as it was intended. Running the back of his hand over liquor clouded eyes, he stat up, back arching in a stretch before allowing him to fully right himself. His head felt as if it had been ground into a fine powder, swallowed, and spit back out, as for the rest of him, it had seen far better days. The sheets slipped down to waist level, threatening to let the wind grasp them, render them helpless before being brutally torn away from their half-sleeping inhabitant. Shaking his head in the illusion of clearing his stream of consciousness, a few strands of navy hair fell in his face and a genteel laugh roused him from whatever inclination he had to drift off to neverland once more.

"Mornin' 'Gato." The sound almost made him flinch, but instead he was limited to merely rolling his eyes and rubbing his head absently in attempt to dislodge the imaginary screwdriver splitting his skull in two.

Midvalley arched a brow before returning a fading smile for the actions "Feeling any better, hmm?"

"Haven't you said enough?" Mimicking Master's tone of utmost contempt, he hissed the answer through the clenched teeth of a feral animal.

Rolling his shoulder and neck, Midvalley hesitated, choosing his words with pinpoint accuracy in fear of unleashing any hormone induced sprees of murderous rage in the other. "Not till I apologize" Falling silent for a instance, he withdrew a letter from his blouse pocket, reading it as the sun caught the gold border, showing it as platinum "Do . . .Do you even remember?"

Visibly scoffing Legato swept the hair out of his face, ran a quick hand through his hair to free tables and straightened his attire seamlessly before taking a slow, deep breath to steady his voice. "Was there something to remember?"

Head dropping, hands clasped together, Midvalley shook his head slowly before moving towards the door. A bruised patch of his cheek became as evident as obsidian between diamonds. It spanned from face to neck, possibly down the entire right side, though most was covered by shirt and an arm that came to reside, as if eternally rubbing the sore spot. "I suppose not." With that, he vanished, only lingering in footsteps steadily traveling down the hall.

A letter, slipped off the bed sheets onto the floor, the envelope unsealed, and the faintest trace of ruby border peering out from within. Brow knitting Legato stretched a feeble hand out, clasping an edge of the document and bringing it to his lap. In quietness, he retrieved the message, unfolding it, scanning over the paper quickly before reading.

_"For reasons undisclosed I wish to see you in my accommodation."_

The statement was blunt, uncomfortably so, deep inside it made him squirm made him wretch, but somehow calmed his psyche. Clutching the letter to his chest, he rested. He didn't need t guess who it was from. The writing put it ever so clearly; even the blind could see it.

Only when consciousness dimmed and a dark shadow passed over the land, covering the sky in a gray blanket did certain inevitable thought enter his mind, rouse his suspicion and set the hairs on his neck upright.

_What really happened?_


End file.
